


all dressed fics

by ficfucker



Category: Letterkenny (TV)
Genre: Ficlet Collection, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:55:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23636407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficfucker/pseuds/ficfucker
Summary: collection of fics that don't have a plot, aren't good enough to stand alone, or are just indulgent, silly, outright pointless that center around darry n wayne
Relationships: Daryl/Wayne (Letterkenny)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 95





	1. hammered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for joking about daddy kink + alcohol/drunkenness

"You wanna know what?" 

Darry snorts, says, "Oh, bud, I already know." 

"Oh, do ya now?" 

Darry nods and raises his eyebrows. "Yep. Yer shitfaced." 

Wayne kind of looks around with a bleary confusion, patting a palm in the hay for his Gus N Bru, which is empty anyhow. "Fuck. I'm hammered." 

"Call ya framim', roofin', or floorin' 'cuz fuck, bud, are you hammered." 

Wayne dips his chin down and snickers. "Forgot drywall there, darlin'." 

"Don't need drywall when you're here plastered." 

Wayne really giggles at that and he tries sitting up proper, but he's slumped against the bars of the hay wagon they're in and lacking the coordination to grab a rail to hoist himself upright. 

"Need a hand there?" 

"I'm fuckin' hammered," Wayne repeats. 

"Wanna make the way to the house?"

It's probably past midnight by now and they could be drinking in the house considering Katy's off on a date with Bonnie McMurray and that means they can be loud and stupid as they wish. Wayne had been pretty well fixed in wanting to climb into the half empty hay wagon though, get drinking in the barn, and with a man of Wayne's size half cut and determined, there wasn't much stopping him. 

"Darry?" 

"Yeah?" 

Wayne hiccups. "'Member at Gail's? When Dan showed us that porno?" 

Darry snorts. "What of it, Big Shoots?" 

"Well. You showed us that one of th' gal callin' th' fella daddy." 

"Fuck are you hammered, hun." 

"Fuck am I fuckin' hammered." Wayne giggles. "If ya ever wanted me to call you that—" 

"Wayne." 

"Come out soundin' funny 'cuz you say I say Dyad funny." 

"Have a dad…," Darry prompts with a smile. 

"But half yer friends got a Dyad, fer some fuckin' reason," Wayne finishes, small laughter bubbling out of him. 

"Know yer sauced, but wouldn't ask ya to call me that anyway." 

"Cuz it'd sound fuckin' weird?" 

Darry watches as Wayne pushes himself up using his palms, then says, "Fuckin' weird askin' yer good buddy gone sweetie to call ya Daddy when yer two grown men."

"De-ya-ddy," Wayne croons, voice going up a pitch. He gets into a squat then stands, wavering, and Darry swoops up, hunches himself over so Wayne can throw an arm across his shoulders. "Dyad," he repeats, giggling. He leans heavy on Darry. 

"Oh, give it to me dee-ya-deeee," Darry joins in, carefully leading Wayne to the edge of the wagon and coaxing him to sit down in order to hop off safely. 

Wayne's almost at a full laugh and it rumbles into Darry's side where Wayne's chest is pressed up against him." Oh, de-ya-ddeee, you're sooo big."

Darry scoots off the hay wagon and offers a hand up to Wayne because even a short fall will do you in if you're not aware the step is coming. He's got a warmth in his stomach and he scolds himself for it, but he reasons it's not his fault for getting fired up over Wayne mimicking a porno considering Wayne could be reading the safety manual for a rider mower and Darry would be pitching a tent just listening. 

Wayne grips Darry's hand, swings himself down safely. "'S'fuckin' weird, Darry," he hiccups. 

"Fuckin' hammered, babe." 

"10-4." Wayne throws his arm around Darry again, but this time he slides down further and stuffs his hand into Darry's back pocket. He gives him a good squeeze through his jeans. 

"Ain't like you to get handsy," Darry chuckles, walking them out of the barn. 

"Sweetie's there so. Like. Might as well see if the fruit's ripe." 

"Oh, thinkin' 'bout thumpin' watermelons?" 

"Find a hump stump in the bush an' I'll let ya open the trunk." 

Darry laughs hard, keeps on with the trek to the porch. "Buddy, you are absolutely fuckin' gone." 

They manage the back steps and Darry holds the door open, ushers Wayne inside, who immediately sits at the table and bends over to take off his boots. Darry kneels down and brushes his hands away to do it for him. 

"Oh, now yer really bein' a de-ya-ddy there, takin' off my boots." 

"Hang that to dry. I'm jus' tryna make this easier on the both us." 

Darry slides Wayne's boots off and sets them aside under the table and he goes to get up when Wayne drops a hand to him, cups Darry's face gently in his palm. Surprised, Darry laughs from his nose then leans into the tender touch so he's pressed to Wayne's thigh, Wayne's hand sandwiched between. 

"Darry." 

"Wayne…" 

Wayne looks down at him behind those long lashes and says, "Ask me if I'm fuckin' serious with this turtleneck." 

Darry pulls a skeptical yet amused face. "You fuckin' serious with that turtleneck?" he asks in a hush. 

"Wanna try it on?" And before Darry can give an answer, Wayne's pulled his hand away and is popping open the snaps of his plaid. Darry sits back on his heels and watches in the low light, figuring there's no harm in letting a drunk man strip down in the privacy of his own kitchen. 

Wayne wrestles out of his black turtleneck and tosses it down to Darry, mumbling a, "Lose a lot of heat in the neck." 

"Now yer losin' heat all over, good buddy." Darry stands, the turtle neck draped over his shoulder, and goes to the fridge to pour Wayne a big glass of water. 

Wayne giggles and leans back so hard in his chair, Darry can hear it creaking. "Wanna, oh, wanna fuckin' venison steak." 

Darry gets a bottle of pain relievers from a top cabinet and shakes out two capsules, then returns to Wayne with the medicine and the water and sets them on the table in front of him. "Maybe we can go huntin' an' bag somethin' then." 

"Like. Want it now." Wayne takes his water and slurps long and loud. "Fuckin' hate dressin' the bastards." 

Darry nods, watches as a few droplets of water miss Wayne's mouth and slide down his bare neck. "Pain in the ass, that's fer sure." 

"Say, where's Katy?" Wayne asks, like he's just realized she's missing. 

"Out with Bonnie McMurray, last I heard." 

Wayne nods and swallows down the pain relievers, finishing off the rest of his water. He blinks a few times then focuses his gaze on Darry. "You still sweet on her?" 

"Who? Bonnie?" 

"Yuh, that's the one." 

"Yer proper fuckin' crocked, darlin'. I ain't sweet on anyone but you." 

Wayne smiles dreamily. "Soft as a sally, and I should say." 

"You gonna let me take you up to bed?" 

Wayne hiccups, which turns into a snicker. "Give me a squeezer if you do?" 

Darry snorts and says sure, just because it gets Wayne to his feet. He leads Wayne up the stairs and sits him on the edge of the bed, undoing his jeans and pulling them off. 

"Go on an' lay down." Darry steps out of his own jeans, shucks off his white undershirt. 

Wayne sprawls out and Darry gets under the blankets beside him and Wayne gives him a messy, poorly executed kiss on the throat. Darry figures Wayne's going to ask about sex again, but when he opens his mouth, he asks, soft in a way Sober Wayne would never be, "Spoon me?" 

Darry doesn't need to be told twice. He rolls over onto his side and wraps himself around Wayne. 

Wayne pulls Darry's right hand up to his face and kisses his palm. "Should go deer huntin' soon." 

"Mhm. Should get to bed fer now, though." 

"Love me, Darry?" 

"Course I do, don't be a rock-kicker." 

"Good," Wayne mumbles. He kisses Darry's hand again then lets his arm lay limp over his shoulder. "Jus' wanted'a hear you say it." 

Darry gives him a good squeeze and once he feels Wayne's breathing drop off and slow, Darry closes his eyes and falls to sleep, too.


	2. no particular reason

Darry and Wayne are, for no particular reason, leaned up on the house in the back beside the woodpile and water spigot. They could be in the house, Katy has gone to town for something, or they could be in the barn or at the stand, but they're sat out behind the house like some youths sneaking off to neck. 

Not necking, though. Just sitting close, Darry's head leaned on the ball of Wayne's shoulder. They've both got their shoes off, their socks inside their boots. 

Darry wiggles his toes, curls them into the grass. 

Wayne sips from his Puppers. 

"Reckon this is it," Darry says. 

"What're you on aboot?" Wayne fishes into his breast pocket, gets his carton of darts. Taps one out. 

"Sittin' quiet with yer sweetie on a hot summer's day. Nothin' quite like it." 

Wayne makes a contemplative grumble, squinting out at the clouds that hide the sun, touched with gold. "Toe-curlin' is nice." 

"Toe-curlin' is nice. An' bein' out on the lake." 

Wayne drags on his dart then passes it over to Darry, who takes his inhale. Wayne says, "An' havin' time fer a movie on the sofa after chorin'." 

Darry smiles, exhales the smoke from his nose. "Havin' a barrel fire." 

"Grillin' sure satisfies, too, don't you forget." 

Darry, with his fingers in a V, places the dart between Wayne's lips, which he knows embarrasses him, because he squints his eyes off in the other direction. Darry shifts and sprawls himself out so his head is in Wayne's lap, looking up at him. 

"Yeah, but I might say jus' sittin' quiet in the sun is nicest outta the whole lot'a 'em." 

"Super fuckin' soft, bud," Wayne mumbles, not looking down. 

"Somethin' you'd rather be doin' then, darlin'?" 

Wayne sucks on his dart, doesn't say anything. 

"'Cuz while I like this, I could think of a couple things I could be doin'," Darry giggles. 

Wayne says, "Not polite." 

"What? Sayin' you ain't down to screw?" Darry is grinning now. 

Wayne palms Darry's face with his right hand, a joking smother, and Darry wriggles around like a fish on a line. He unsticks Wayne's hand from his face, holds it above him, fingers spread. 

"What now?" 

"Jus' lookin' at yer hand, Super Chief, that ain't a crime." 

Wayne squints down at him, not much left of his dart. He says, around his smoke, "Even infants are beyond bein' amused with hands, Dar. Pick somethin' a rung up the ladder, like jingling keys." 

Darry looks up between the slats of Wayne's fingers and says, voice soft, "You know, ya got real pretty eyelashes, Wayne." 

Wayne glances away, plucks the cigarette butt from between his lips. He gives it a good flick off to the side with his free hand. "Fuckin' 10 ply."

Darry grins and slowly guides Wayne's hand down back over his face, curling his fingers down until only his forefinger is left standing, and he takes it into his mouth. Wayne blushes like a school girl, his cheeks flushing red, down to his neck, and it's surely not the sun doing it to him. Darry gives his tongue a playful twist, licks the pad of Wayne's finger before sucking it a bit further past his lips. 

Bugs buzz and birds whistle off in the distance. 

Darry lets Wayne's finger free and his palm falls dead weight to Darry's chest, splayed flat. 

Wayne mutters, "Actin' like a fuckin' inbred degen." 

"Oh, c'mon, now, I'm havin' some fun with my sweetie." 

"Yer mouth is filthy enough ya probably need more than two sticks to sort that out." 

Darry rolls his eyes, still smiling, all teeth. He says, "Yeah, well, I got my head laid jus' about perfect an' I felt yer pecker give a twitch so I know yer all talk, Big Shoots." 

Wayne doesn't say anything, just keeps his chin square and opposite away from Darry. 

"Wayne." 

"Yuh?" 

"Wayne, jus' look at me?" 

Wayne seems to consider it, then turns slowly and dips his chin down so they're making eye contact. The sun's cut over the left side of his face, his right side partly shadowed, and it makes him look both defined and soft. His cheeks are rosy. 

"Aw, she's bashful," Darry murmurs, reaching up to cup a hand to the side of Wayne's neck. Feels the heart beat there, thrumming through the veins that rise from the skin in little blue road maps. 

Wayne toys with the top button of Darry's white undershirt and with a man so deliberate in actions, Darry knows that's a tell. 

Darry leans up on his elbows and gives Wayne a heated, agonizingly slow kiss, the hand on Wayne's throat coming up to the line of his jaw. Wayne's wanting, because he allows Darry to work his mouth open, press his tongue into him. 

Darry flops back down. "Givin' myself a good core workout here leanin' up to smooch ya," he says. 

Wayne runs his fingers through Darry's curls, says, "Spose we ought to go somewhere more comfortable if yer so insisting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nasty...


	3. sled shack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> first kiss

Wayne knows it's now or never and that the train is pulling up to the station anyhow, because he's seen the way Darry tilts his head and sighs a longing sigh towards Wayne when he thinks Wayne ain't aware of the gaze, and sides, Wayne's been turning it over in his mind, too, for pert near three months now. He can tell they're on the edge of things, come to the last step, by how Darry keeps shifting around in his snow wear, like he can't get comfortable despite the fact that Wayne's got the little space heater cranked to max and Darry could just as easy slip off a few layers. 

So Wayne's sipping a Puppers and pretending to be invested in the VHS episode of Alf that Darry had brought with him in a cardboard box along with some other old shows, when Darry clears his throat and says, "Got a Would You Rather." 

"Get the rig rollin'." 

Darry sticks his bottom lip out thoughtfully like he's figuring a math problem in his head even though he just said he had it in the chamber. "Would you rather… swim 300 meters through… human shit or dead bodies?" 

"Well. Like. Fuckin' neither." 

"If you had to pick." 

Wayne considers, then asks, "All go the same way or do I gotta paddle through some real casket closers?" 

Darry grins, all amused and bright eyed, and it's the most genuine energy Wayne's seen out of him in well over two hours, the anxious, tense air escaping from him. "Got all sorts. Some natural, some head on collision types." 

Wayne wrinkles his face up. "How fresh is the fruit?" 

Darry shrugs and reclines on the crate he's on until his back touches the wood wall of the shack. "Got all sorts," he repeats. 

"So. I'd have to swim 300 meters through both hacked up and nonhacked up dead bodies in various stages of decomposition." 

"Yep." 

Wayne would rather go back to sitting in the awkward silence of knowing your good buddy wants to grease your wheel and being unsure how to approach the subject than sit and talk nasty hypotheticals that Darry always seems to be thinking about, but he tries to be a good sport and entertain. "Do I gotta wear swim trunks or can I go in my work clothes?" 

"Player's choice." 

"Spose still the dead bodies cuz even with decomposition set in, I'd be less likely to come out the other side. You know. Covered down slick with what I was in." 

"Diaturbin' a corpse makes 'em leak sometimes." 

"Blood an' serum out the mouth." 

Darry nods grimly. 

"Ya wanna know what, Darry? Not so keen on this particular Would You Rather." 

"Oh, yer always a poopy pants." 

Wayne risks a look over at Darry, who's got his arms crossed and his legs spread out in front of him, the blue light of the television reflecting mirror images of Alf's puppet body in his eyes. "Fuckin' barbaric game." 

Darry pouts a minute and Wayne pretends to watch the TV, but he's fixated as ever on wondering what Darry's thinking of, the image of a pool full to the brim with the deceased not leaving room for much else, but trying to ignore it. 

"Okay. Got another then." 

"Pitter patter." 

Darry goes quiet long enough that Wayne sits at attention and looks over towards him, finds Darry going rosy in the face and it's certainly not from the dry, artificial heat that's filled the small cabin. 

"Get after it, then," Wayne prompts. 

"Rather kiss me… or Squirrelly Dan?" he finally asks. 

Wayne knew they were on the path to getting to this exact destination, just wasn't sure which form it'd come in, and now that it's hanging, waiting to be plucked, Wayne feels a bit sheepish. He tilts his beer to his lips and finishes it down to the last few gulps, knowing the rest is backwash and too warm to be enjoyable even if it wasn't composed of mostly his own spit. 

"French ya or a gentleman's kiss?" 

Darry lurches forward until he's sitting erect, eager in his movement, and Wayne thinks for a split second he's about to forget the game entirely. He finds his manners and stops his tongue before it can get him into the deep end and answers, "Gentleman's kiss. Ain't searchin' for tonsils." 

"Fuckin'... pick you then, I guess," Wayne mumbles, trying to act a shade reluctant like he hasn't imagined grabbing Darry by the hips and walking him backwards up against the house and kissing him until they were both dizzy in the head. 

Darry sits silent then shifts, dropping his back down into a slouch so he's bent over his own lap, arms hanging slack between his spread knees. 

After a minute he asks, "Got a reason for one o'er the other?" 

Because I'd pick you no matter the lineup of options. 

"'Cuz Dan's got that beard of his." 

"I could grow a beard." 

"You could not." 

"Could too."

"Fuckin' could not." 

"I could too, you fuckin' skirt." 

"You fuckin' high?" 

Darry revs himself up and Wayne figures he's about to donkey holler at him in that way he does when he's fired over an argument, pitch his voice so high and stubborn it breaks and the words come out like chipped china, but instead he blurts out, "Fuckin' dare ya to then!" 

"Dare'me'ta'whut?" Wayne asks, all one word in one breath. 

"Kiss me." 

Wayne swallows and squints his eyes tight so Darry can't see them. "Thought we was playin' Would You Rather, not Truth or Dare." 

Darry twists his hands together, wringing out an invisible cloth, and Wayne gives in because it's bound to happen sooner or later and fuck if Wayne don't want it too, so he turns on the white plastic bucket he's sat on and roughly slaps a palm to Darry's neck, which is so criminally warm and bare, and angles his face to him. He leans in and kisses Darry full on the mouth and Darry surges into it, suddenly come to life at the contact, and he's so eager, he tries to scoot closer, but knocks Wayne off his balance and his bucket nearly tips. 

Wayne rights himself, saying, "Whoa there, Super Chieftian." 

Darry looks downright pitiful, so needy and guilty, and Wayne wants to kiss the look off him, so he tries to, going much slower this time, the fire a simmer and not a blaze of teeth like the first, and Darry brings his hand up, curls his fingers around the wrist attached to the palm that Wayne's got cupped to the side of Darry's face. Darry's shoulders go down and he sighs into it, their lips inching apart to reconnect at new angles, making that soft little kissing sound, and Wayne, mind gone completely from his skull, sighs quietly into Darry's mouth. 

"Convince you any?" Wayne asks in a whisper, because he feels like he's got to say something and it's the best his brain can come up with on account of feeling so dizzy with satisfaction and surprise, he's pert near fit to pass out. 

"Could convince a jury." 

"Darry?" 

"Wayne?" 

"I'm gonna go on an' ask ya Truth or Dare, 'kay? Now you better just answer with Dare." 

"Okey." 

"Darry. Truth or Dare?" 

"Dare." 

"Dare ya to kiss me again." 

And Darry's more than happy to indulge, his face breaking into a childish grin that almost makes it so he can't kiss Wayne proper, and Wayne knows when Darry places a hand to the side of his face, kissing him like Wayne's the only sweetie he ever wants to kiss for the rest of his life, they weren't playing a game and never were. 

"Could've asked an' spared me the run around," Wayne whispers, winding a single curl around his index finger over and over. 

"Didn't see you makin' any moves forward." 

"Fair 'nough." 

And Wayne returns happily to kissing Darry until the tape ends and the VCR goes blue and auto rewinds and the only things that can be heard are Wayne and Darry kissing and the bitter wind whipping the windows from outside.


	4. riled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> medium nasty

Sometimes you get so riled during choring, despite enjoying farm life of squeezing teats and scooping silage, that you've got to get to playing games with your sweetie fore you end up a stitch near fit for the looney bin. 

And when that sweetie is Wayne, it's a double double of sweet and smug, because while Wayne's a red blooded man same as Daryl and ain't shy to admit he enjoys some yes-ing as much as the next, he's traditional, doesn't like kissing and telling and certainly not when he's choring. 

Darry's squat down milking a cow into a galvanized steel pail bowlegged on his small three-legged stool. It's hot in the barn and his hair's sticking to the back of his neck in damp curls, mopping down into his eyes. Flies swoop and buzz. 

He and Wayne have been sweeties more than a minute now and although what folks consider the "honeymoon" or "puppy love" phase has passed, Darry's still young enough that his shaft gets shifted just looking at Wayne bent down to buck a bale. 

Hell, sometimes he'll catch Wayne squinting in his direction when Wayne thinks he can't be seen and that'll give his bits a boil, knowing the toughest man in Letterkenny is giving him the eye when he thinks he's being slick about it. 

So he's milking as he does when he decides now's a good time as any to get up to some mischief. Feels like he's randy enough being saddled with Wayne, he could go blind from it. 

"Wayne," Darry calls over his shoulder. 

"Yuh." 

Darry smiles. "What'd're'ya busy with right now?" 

Wayne steps up to the barn with his rusted red tool box clenched in his left fist, a stack of boards tucked under his right arm. He squints down at Darry. "Was gunna go patch a hole in the hen coop." 

"Well, can you pause a minute an' give this old girl a looksee?" Darry gestures to the undercarriage of the cow he's milking. 

Wayne's eyebrows bunch up. "Whatever it is, slather of bag balm'll fix her, most likely." 

"Wayne, jus' come look," Darry insists. He's trying the hardest he's ever to not smile, biting down on the inside of his cheek with as much discipline as a mother who swats a giggling son in church. 

Wayne sets down his slats of wood, places his toolbox atop them by the mouth of the barn then steps in. "Scoot o'er." 

Darry grabs the lip under the top of his stool, lifts it enough that it's off the ground, and still squatted with it under his ass, walks backward to give Wayne the runway. 

Wayne bends down and squints harshly around the cow’s udders, a hand placed gentle to her back as not to spook the gal, and before he can stand up or turn to ask Darry what on God's green earth he's sposed to be looking for, Darry slaps a hand to the seat of Wayne's jeans and gives him a good squeeze. And not just a little spanking there, but a full handed grope, where he's palming Wayne's left ass cheek and giving him a playful throttle. 

Wayne stiffens and with mechanical instinct, swats Darry's hand away, then seems to realize he's striked at his sweetie, and when he stands up and turns around to face Darry, he looks torn. His face has gone red quick as that, too. 

"Not proper," is what he says before marching off, blushing red to the root, to gather his tools and head to the chicken coop. 

"Jus' havin' fun with ya, darlin'!" Darry calls out, saddling back up to his milking. "Don't think I don't see ya lookin'!" 

Darry's satisfied with himself, having got Wayne flustered like he has and he whistles while he works. 

And after patching the coop and giving her a double check to ensure no other repairs are needed, Wayne heads back to his shed to put his tools away. He knows it's his turn to make a move in this degen attempt at flirting or whatever you might call what Darry's got going. Wayne don't like being too lewd out here on the property, though he's not opposed to a tug behind the silo or hid way out in the field from time to time. 

So he'll lay his hand for the move, but he'll be a brush more innocent than Darry's game of ass grab. 

He goes into the barn to find Darry spreading hay in a freshly mucked stall and without making his presence known, Wayne surveys the area to see what can be done. He spots a pair of his work gloves stuck tween the slats overhead of the stall and Wayne walks over, putting his palm square in the middle of Darry's lower back despite there being more than three feet room enough to get by and Wayne murmurs, "Jus' gettin' gloves there." 

"I see what yer gettin' there, Wayne." 

Wayne gets the glove and in a moment of crass bravery, he takes one by the wrist and whips Darry on the bum with it and Darry straightens up, yelps a high, "Yew!" 

Darry spins on his heel, giggles escaping him even as a blush bittersweet creeps over his face and he's grinning as big as God will allow him. He puffs up like he's fixing for a tilly and says, "Whaddya goin' an' swattin' my bum for?" 

"Oh, seen an opportunity an' took it." Wayne's beating down a smile that he doesn't have much a hold on and when Darry steps up to Wayne, Wayne grabs him by the wrists and pulls him closer. 

"Gonna play games all day then, cowboy?" Darry asks. He stands on his toes and kisses Wayne on the nose. 

Wayne dips down and kisses in his hair. "Most likely." 

So that's just what they do. 

Darry gets Wayne back by getting a hand on him while picking stones and popping open the front of his plaid right down to where it's tucked into his jeans for Dan to see. Wayne acts urgent and stomps up the metal steps of the tractor before Darry gets in to haul hay and when Darry swings open the glass door, Wayne gives him a heated, dirty kiss that leaves Darry breathless and quivering. Darry curls his fingers around Wayne's Puppers, nearly standing on the toes of his boots he's so close, and takes a good long slug, letting a few drops slip out the corner of his mouth, giving his lips a lick before returning to chore. Wayne slings an arm around Darry's stomach when he goes to grab a beer from the cooler and yanks him down into his lap when they're sat by the produce stand, an act he'd normally never dare, save for the fact that Wayne wants to make the last move and catch Darry off guard. 

Once Dan has gone home and Katy's in the house to get a start on fixing supper, Darry turns around in Wayne's lap and whispers, "Gonna have you pullin' turnips crooked tomorrow when I'm done with ya." 

Wayne watches his mouth. "'Kay." And he gives Darry a kiss because that's for sure a first place prize if he's ever heard of one.


	5. some off the sides

Wayne wonders absently, as he sits in the kitchen chair Darry's dragged on up to the bathroom, if he's done pot today somehow and forgotten, maybe eaten something with the Johnny Red Eye in it without realizing. He watches Darry open his little barber bag and asks, "Remind me again how I let you talk me into the buttfuckery?" 

"Sheered sheep 'fore, what's the difference?" 

"Well. Like. A million fuckin' things, but namely… finesse. Precision." 

"Some off the sides. How tough is that?" Darry plugs the clippers into the outlet by the sink and paws through his bag for the appropriate attachment. 

"Coulda gone to town an' had it done." 

"Oh, button up, Shootsy Wootsy. Saves you the time so you can get back to chorin'." 

Wayne grumbles. 

Darry clicks the blades into place and shows them to Wayne to confirm they're the right length and Wayne gives a tiny nod with his chin. 

"Just some off the sides," Wayne says. 

Darry pushes the button to on, the buzzers whirring, repeats, "Some off the sides." 

Darry palms the back of Wayne's head and pushes him enough that he's looking down at his own lap. Wayne's scalp tingles and the feeling grows more intense when Darry presses the teeth to the nape of his neck. 

Little fluffs of hair fall onto Wayne's shoulders, onto the tile floor of the bathroom. Wayne's still on high alert, worried Darry's gonna give him a cut like he's driving a ride-on mower shitfaced in the corn field, but he closes his eyes. No reason not to trust your sweetie unless they give you one. 

Even with haircuts. 

"Not too much," Wayne mumbles. 

Darry draws a good line up the crown of Wayne's head and Wayne nearly shivers. "Got it, Super Chief." 

Darry keeps at his buzzing until he figures Wayne's down to his typical style, then clicks them off and gets a tiny pair of silver scissors. He gets on with cleaning up Wayne's nape. 

"How 'bout them sideburns?" Darry draws a finger down around Wayne's ear. 

Wayne sighs before he can even think to hold it in, neck dotting with goosebumps. "Some off the sides." 

"10-4, good buddy." Darry resumes his cutting, face centimeters from Wayne's, tongue peeking out between his lips with concentration. 

The scissors are cold where they press against Wayne's skin. Considering he's been getting his hair done regularly at a barber since his father saw fit, Wayne has never thought to even think that a trim could be intimate, but the way he feels Darry breathing on him, fingers guiding his chin, well, Wayne's entered a whole new world. If he wasn't so stiff by nature, he'd relax, soothed by the small touches. 

"Probably should've been shirtless for this." Darry puts the scissors back in the bag. 

"Not appropriate." Wayne stands and dusts off his shoulders.

Darry shrugs, says, "Got a good plaid all hairy." 

Wayne looks in the mirror, cranes his neck left and right in an attempt to see as much he can. Looks good. Not like he goes for anything extreme with hair styles, he'd just been getting a bit too scruffy for his own likings and after Darry had given up trying to convince him it was a good look, he insisted he be the one to cut Wayne's hair. 

"You wanna know what? Should always be honest. Darry. This a goddamn good haircut." 

Darry grins wide and leans up on his toes to give Wayne a kiss. "No pedestrian efforts when it comes to my sweetie," he giggles. "Oughta hop in the shower to get those little whiskers off ya, though." 

"Then right back to chorin'." 

At the doorway, Darry gives Wayne another proud lookover. "I know the score, Big Shoots…" He smiles at Wayne, all terribly soft, and adds, "I'll put some more Puppers in the cooler for when ya come out." 

Wayne smiles, which is more a single twitch of a muscle and a warmth in his eyes than a true smile. "Love you, Dar." 

Darry blows him a kiss and tosses him a wink and closes the door. "I'll sweep up too!" he calls from the stairs. "When you're done showerin'!" 

Wayne brushes his hand over the back of his head, feeling the short prickly hairs with his palm, and considers how lucky he is to have Darry.


	6. too much horn talk

"Semi in a semi," the both say. 

Darry grins wildly then, with less excitement, "All know the story about O Canada, thanks to Katy." 

"Oh, fuckin' all know that story," Wayne agrees. 

"You share then." 

Wayne considers for a moment. If Dan or Katy were around to hear, Wayne would be insisting it were improper and inappropriate, but Darry's been his sweetie awhile and sometimes it gives you a tickle to talk awkward erections with a good buddy and double that if he's your sweetie and you're still a little juvenilely curious about his horn and yours and how they both work. 

"Playin' goalie in the rink an' pert near got a disk to the dick 'cuz my slim jim was lookin' to the bleachers, grade 10." 

Darry giggles. "Nap time half torque an' then the damn dog's leapin' into bed." 

"Shuckin' corn shifts the shaft, fuck. Makes me feel like a degen when that springs up jus' tryna fix supper." Wayne feels his cheeks go warm at the thought, going redder when Darry gives him a knowing smirking from behind the bottle of Puppers he has raised to his lips. 

"Jumpsuit gets tight at the corner store passin' by the condoms." 

"Don't wear yer barn clothes to town." 

Darry rolls his eyes. 

Wayne continues with, "Need a lap pillow watchin' hockey these days otherwise I'll be flyin' flag with whoever's in the room and fuck, if that don't embarrass the whole lot." 

Darry quirks an eyebrow, grinning in a way that pulls only one corner of his mouth up. "Really? Hockey does it to ya, Big Shooter?" 

"Not my fault seein' a bunch of fellas pert near a donnybrook grabbin' an' shovin' like they wasn't brought upright turns the crank."

"Oh, so she likes it rough." 

"Come off it." 

Darry snickers. "Sticker pecking out on the combine." 

"Mornin' salute an' Stewart was stayin' with Katy an' you jus' know the skid got a peeksee."

Darry snorts and opens another beer, passes it to Wayne, then gets one for himself. "Didn't try tuckin' it into the linin' of your drawers?" 

"Can only do so much, Dar. Jostle the package wrong, hurts so goddamn bad." 

"Walked past you rockin' a piss outside the hay barn an' was a c-hair shy from a full sail." 

"Durin' a piss?" 

Darry makes a "what can I say?" motion with one hand. "Yer middle stump thumps to hockey tillies." 

"Fair enough." 

"Oh, uh, one time we was skinny dippin' in the pond 'fore we were sweeties an' seen you come up from dunkin' yer head under an' boy howdy, there was some big waves in the southern seas." 

That really makes Wayne blush, ears hot as two radiators attached to his head. "How long 'fore bein' sweeties?" 

Darry shrugs. "I'unno. Couple years back now, I reckon." 

"Couple years? Darry, you were sweet on me a couple years?" 

Darry draws his eyebrows together and gives Wayne a puzzle, tight look, like he should know this already. "Been sweet on you pert near forever, good buddy. You fuckin' high?" 

"Didn't do no pot," Wayne mutters. "An' I didn't know! How the fuck was I exposed to know you were sweet this whole time?" 

Darry laughs. "Been givin' you the eyes." 

"Oh, like when?" 

"Like, I'unno, durin' catch." 

"Baseball catch?" 

"Co-rrect." 

"Can't be givin' a man the eye durin' catch, Darry, fuck's sake." 

"Fine. Also gave it at stump burnin's." 

Wayne opens his mouth like he's fixing to catch flies. 

Darry starts listing on his fingers. "At Modean's. Durin' buck an' does. At bekfist. Pickin' stones." 

"Okay. Well. Darry. Okay. Okay. Darry." Wayne blinks furiously. "'Kay. So. Givin' me the eyes. Been sweet on me. This whole time." 

"Texas sized 10-4."

"Spose I got a lot to make up for then." 

Darry smiles and tilts his head forward, lowering his voice to a hush. "Wayne?" 

"Darry." 

"'Nother awkward horn story? Kickin' a front stunt right now in my barns clothes, darlin'." 

Wayne leans in closer and kind of gives Darry a nuzzle on the side of his face, Darry's stubble dragging coarsely over his cheek in a way that makes Wayne's arms goosebump. "Here's the scoop an' I'm gonna tell ya. Wouldn't complain if you wanted a roll in the hay to finish off the night."


	7. strawberry sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> boys picnic out in the brush

"This is," Wayne says, "absolutely, exceptionally, exponentially fuckin' soft, bud." 

Darry puts on a small frown. "Wouldn't think a fella like you would insult tradition." 

Wayne watches Darry kneel and start to unpack the basket, so he sits on his side of the checkered blanket and crosses his legs, crosses his arms. "I'm not insultin' the tradition of it, Darry, you don't fuck with tradition. I'm sayin' yer 10-ply for the whole get up." 

Darry rolls his eyes. "Fine, you ain't gettin' none of my strawberry buttermilk pound cake then, Mr. Poopy Pants." 

Wayne cocks a single eyebrow. "Hold your horses there, no reason to get excited." 

"Knew that'd get ya," Darry giggles. He uncaps a Puppers and passes it to Wayne then reaches back into the basket and produces a sandwich cut into triangles. He places that on the plate in front of Wayne and goes to open the bag of all dressed chips. 

After a sip of beer, Wayne says, "Really gave this some thought, eh?" 

"Nothin' less than a c-hair shy of perfection for my sweetie." 

Wayne inserts a few chips into his mouth, chews, swallows before speaking. He opens his mouth like he's going to call Darry a sally, but maybe because they're alone, or because it's a warm, sunny day, or because Wayne truly loves Darry more than he can even articulate, he says, "Lucky guy to have you as my sweetie, Dar." 

Darry beams, all blossoming flowers and rays of sunshine. "Shoot, Super Chief, who gave you the okay to get soft on me?"

"Exposed to be soft with your sweetie, I reckon. Least… sometimes." 

Darry keeps on his grinning, smiling around the sandwich he's chewing up, and it's such a radiant thing, so unabashedly genuine, Wayne has to squint and look away. 

Once they've finished their sandwiches and between them, pert near a half bag of chips, Darry reveals the main course, which is chicken drumsticks, fried, naturally. 

"Gave 'er yer all?" 

Darry smirks and shrugs one shoulder up to his ear. "Chicken's one the only things I can really cook." 

"Sides strawberry buttermilk pound cake." 

"Oh, I wouldn't piss in the wind bout my pound cake." 

"Oh, it's great pound cake, Darry." 

"Go so far as to call it excellent pound cake, but don't wanna toot my own horn." 

Wayne nods. "Braggin's only good for rodeos and horseshoes." 

Speaking around a mouthful of chicken, Darry agrees by saying, "Boy howdy." 

The chicken is good; crisp, but not dry, and Wayne eats several pieces and chases them with his Puppers, staying keenly aware of how full he is in order to save room for dessert. Darry looks like a chipmunk, stuffing his cheeks and smiling so goofy, and when he's got his head down to look at his plate or into the basket, Wayne sneaks looks enough to make his heart stutter. 

Darry cuts a large slice of strawberry pound cake, the flesh of it so pink, it looks cartoonishly fake, and serves it to Wayne. 

"Thank you, Darry." 

"Don't say I never did nothing for ya," he teases. 

Wayne forks cake into his mouth and fuck, if it ain't the best thing Wayne's had in a hot minute. 

After Wayne has two slices of pound cake and Darry's had his share, Wayne helps pack things up. 

"Brought along Mice and Men," Darry mentions softly. "If you wanna get some readin' in real quick." 

"Well…" Wayne squints up to the sky, his hands to his hips. It's warm, but not beating and Wayne doesn't want to break off the moment so quick. "Chorin's done so guess it's A-1."

Darry takes the worn paperback out of the basket and he settles down by a tree, his back pressed to it, and he spreads his legs into a wide V. Wayne sits himself between them and leans his head to Darry's chest, sets his elbows up on Darry's thighs as he thumbs through the book to find where they left off last night. 

"Done told you this one don't got a happy endin', right?" 

"Reckon a fella needs to cry sometimes and he oughta be fuckin' aware of it." 

Wayne agrees with a nod then gets to reading, Darry's arms wrapped comfortably around his middle. Darry closes his eyes the way he does to help visual the story better. A wind blows on occasion, but not one that disrupts focus from the activity, doesn't turn pages prematurely. Darry pauses Wayne to comment, ask questions from time to time, and Wayne responds best he can, clarifies any confusion when he's able. 

In the back of Wayne's mind, he's thinking about what he'll do for Darry as a thank you; not that courting is a competition or something that leaves the other being owed, but Wayne wants to express his love in a mutual fashion. 

Finishing another chapter, Wayne decides he'll take Darry to town sometime soon and treat him to some new choring boots. 

Wayne pauses to sip off Darry's beer, wet his mouth. He sets the bottle back down beside them, then turns his head, and cranes up to give Darry a little kiss on the mouth. 

He tastes like strawberries and buttermilk.


	8. house bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> darry finds a rejected chick in the coop and convinces wayne to let him raise the poor thing

"Oh bother." 

"Cmon, Wayne, it won't hurt anyone none to keep him round till he's big enough to be out in the coop." 

Wayne is quiet a minute. He watches the small black chick reposition against Darry's cupped palm, kind of cuddles its head closer between his fingers. Wayne says, "Not raising a damn house bird, Dar." 

Darry frowns and with his free hand, extends his index finger, oh so gently strokes the babe. "Won't be a house bird. Once he's big enough to do on his own, we'll sneak him into another mature clutch." 

"Oh, and if the flock don't take to him?" Wayne raises a stern eyebrow, knowing damn well the poor runt will be rejected by any surrogate siblings. 

"Someone will, I'm sure." 

Wayne grumbles. "Birds don't do proper on their lonesome," he mutters. 

"We'll get him introduced to other babes soon as he's got some adult feathers." 

Wayne knows that's a crock, but he finishes his coffee, sets the mug down, stands stiffly, and says, "Ought to find him a pen, I suppose." 

Darry locates a little white wire bird cage out in one of the barns, once used to keep brooding bantam hens from being pecked while they sat or raised babes. It gets a good hosing and Darry fastens two bowls to the side at an appropriate height so the chick won't accidentally drown in the drinking water. Wayne watches as his sweetie lines the bottom with straw and shavings. 

Wayne says no birds in the house, that the porch is just fine to set up the cage, but Darry whines and whines, says a coyote will come right up to the back door if he's so willing, and Wayne knows that's the truth, but he's also aware a coyote wouldn't bother with a babe no bigger than a mouse. But to soothe his super soft sweetie, Wayne gives in and says the foolish thing can be kept in the spare bedroom, so long as Darry keeps it clean and sweeps up any shavings that spill out onto the floor. 

Darry beams, delighted, and throws his arms around Wayne's middle with enough force that Wayne rocks a bit.

"Yous better not have chicken hands." 

Darry giggles. "I washed." 

Wayne sighs through his nose. "You wanna know what? I have a feeling this is gonna go on way longer than I'd like it." 

And it absolutely does. 

Darry names the half pint Tootsie (for some fucking reason) and as soon as choring is done, Darry's burning rubber to get back to the house and grind up and wet some mash, make sure there's clean water. He sits cross legged in his barn clothes and perches Tootsie on his forefinger, baby talks the bird as if it understands the English language. 

The biggest issue is that Tootsie gets dependent and will cry when he's lonely, shrill keening that could wake the fucking dead, and Wayne would never hurt an animal, but he gets so that he spends more time outside than in, even when there's no choring to be done. 

"Gotta introduce him to other birds," Wayne comments from the doorway. 

Darry looks over his shoulder, smiles smally at Wayne. Tootsie is perched on his finger. "Adult feathers ain't hardly come in…" 

Wayne squints and recrosses his arms. "'Kay." 

Tootsie grows adult feathers in the coming months and is very clearly a hen, but they've got so accustomed to using male pronouns, they stick with calling Tootsie a boy. Darry tries a couple times to urge Tootsie to spend time with the juveniles from the few clutches raised in the coop, but they pull out his feathers and he returns to Darry like a beaten pup. 

"Not socialized proper," Wayne comments. 

"He'll find a spot when he's full grown…," Darry mumbles. "You know how teenagers are." 

So Tootsie becomes what Wayne knew he'd become: a house bird. He's a bantam, so he's not much bigger than Wayne's fist, but even a small chicken will bring the farm smell into a house all on his own. The little wire cage isn't big enough either and Wayne's near giving Darry the beats over the whole situation, so Darry fixes up one of the old rabbit hutches and Tootsie lives in it on the porch. 

When he's let out to till in the dirt and chase bugs, Tootsie follows Darry around the property. Guys will be sat having a darty party and here comes Tootsie to hope in Darry's lap and pull on his barn clothes, looking for a treat same as a dog. 

"Never seens a bird quites like yours there, Darry," Dan comments. 

Darry laughs and gives Tootsie a pat on the back, scratches under his red wattles. "Knew he'd be a good bird." 

Wayne mutters, "Bird don't act like a bird." 

"Lays eggs and clucks," Darry argues. "Say that meets the criteria for bein' a chicken." 

Wayne chin wags about Tootsie being too latched to Darry, but if he's out in the barn and Tootsie has been let free to roam, Wayne will squat down and crush up some chips and throw them towards Tootsie to peck up. He's a gorgeous little hen, sleek black with a dusty grey breast, a short four tooth comb, and Wayne figures he's the product of their show birds mating. Sometimes they'll enter the yearly fair and see if their flock can win anything and a couple times they've come home with ribbons and money. 

It gets Wayne thinking. 

"Darry?" 

Darry looks up from the teats he's pulling. "Wayne?" 

"Reckon Tootsie is handsome enough for the fair?" 

Darry blossoms into a smile and nods fiercely. "Shoot, we oughta give him a shot…" 

Fair rolls around and Wayne finds himself anxious as he watches the judges come through, pass by Tootsie's cage. Darry's gripping Wayne's hand tight, his eyebrows knit with nerves and focus. They've entered a few other hens, two of their roosters, but all eyes are on Tootsie. 

He gets third in clean leg bantam and that's more than enough for Darry, who pert near starts getting misty when McMurray hands him the ribbon. 

"Fine specimen," McMurray says, shaking Darry's hand firmly. "She ever has chicks, I'm sure she'll be the mama of some first placers." 

Wayne gives Darry a pat on the back then slings his arm around his sweetie's shoulder, says, "All the trouble he's worth… has charm to him." 

Darry gives Tootsie a loving stroke, similar to the one given the very first day Darry had come into the house with the babe cupped in his hands, crying to Wayne that the poor chick was getting rejected by every brooding hen they had. "Means a lot to me, Wayne, you lettin' me keep him and all." 

"Not like you can return him to sender." 

"No, but I'm sure other fellas would've told me to just leave him in the coop and see what happens…" 

Wayne kisses Darry on the temple. "Handful, Dar, that's for sure, but love ya for it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am passionate about birds so naturally had to write something with them lol and i feel like the "we got a puppy trope" is used with letterkenny since waynes already got his dogs
> 
> tootsie is supposed to be an old english game bantam (which my family has been raising for 4 human generations!)


	9. clean shave

The fact that Wayne shaves with a straight razor shouldn't come as a surprise, considering he's Toughest Guy In Letterkenny, Good Ole Boy, Don't Fuck With Tradition Wayne, but when Darry starts spending the nights with his sweetie and gets a peeksee at Wayne's morning routine, Darry drops his mouth open all the same. 

"Catch flies that way," Wayne says when he catches Darry's eye in the mirror. 

"You fuckin' serious with that straight razor, bud?" 

"You wanna know what, Darry?" Wayne lowers the blade from where he's got it raised, sets his wrist so it leans against the sink. "More than 2 billion disposable razors end up in landfills every year. That's pert near 500 metric tons of plastic waste. A straight razor is fuckin' dependable. A straight razor you give a good wash and routine honing, it'll last you years." 

"You off your soapbox?" 

"Mmmmmno. A straight razor never leaves bumps, burns, or unwanted blemishes. A straight razor doesn't get clogged and doesn't need a rinsing as often as a cartridge razor. Darry, if a man can be one thing, he should be efficient." 

Darry smiles, shakes his head. He scoots past Wayne and raises the toilet seat, hikes down the front of his pajama bottoms to rock a piss. "Still don't convince me. My luck, I'll give myself a haircut just below the chin." 

"Wouldn't want that, and I should say." 

Darry remains unsold on the straight razor front, but he continues to be fascinated with Wayne's shaving. The long, slow strokes of the glinting silver blade catch Darry's eye and he finds himself standing there in the bathroom whenever Wayne's eliminating some stubble, hypnotized. Wayne doesn't seem to mind the audience. His hand never shakes, edge never draws blood. 

One morning, Wayne's in a particularly chipper mood, probably on account of the nice weather that's making itself known by shining sun in through the windows, and he asks, "Want to give her a go?" 

Darry widens his eyes and takes a step back. "Oh, no way, Wayne. I'll paint the room into a crime scene right quick." 

"How's about I operate the machinery then?" 

Before Darry can consider the question, he's saying, "Sure." He likes having his hair played with as much as a dog likes a good scratch, and he figures letting someone shave you is within the same ballpark, if a bit more dangerous. That aspect is juvenilely exciting somehow. 

Darry brings one of the kitchen chairs into the bathroom and saddles up. Wayne lathers his face and neck and Darry's assumption was right: feels good the same way any other contact from Wayne feels good. 

"'Kay. Now…" Wayne places two fingers to Darry's shaving-creamed face and tilts his head to a better angle, gives him a look over before drawing his razor. "Don't go jumpin' or flinchin' like a barn cat or I'll wind up bitin' ya." 

Darry hums to indicate he understands. 

Wayne brings the blade to Darry's face and it's cold enough that Darry wants to wince away, but he stills himself. The stainless steel cutter drags down Darry's cheek. Wayne's face hardens to a determined squint and he continues his strokes, left hand moving Darry's head around accordingly. Darry gets so he's relaxed enough, he closes. 

"Done." 

Darry pops one eye open and looks at himself in the mirror. He's got a few streaks of shaving lather on his face, but other than that, he's smooth and clean as a hayed field. He whistles. "Gone and done me right, Big Shoots." 

"A straight razor doesn't produce pedestrian results when you don't give it a pedestrian effort." 

Darry grins and stands up, starts to wash off his face. He looks at himself, side to side, then turns around and curls his fingers into Wayne's belt loops to pull him closer. "Thank you mighty, Wayne." 

Wayne gives Darry a kiss on his bare cheek. "Sweetie deserves a good shave seeing as he can't grow a beard." 

"Can, too." 

"Fuckin' cannot." 

"Can fuckin' too!" 

"Could fuckin' not, Darry, figger it out." 

Darry gives Wayne a playful shove. "You figger it out…" With a smile, he adds, "Where's that aftershave of yours?" 

"Shaved you proper now you don't know how to act." Wayne passes Darry a small glass bottle of green liquid, which, when he uncaps it, is strong and sharp. 

"Never know how to act right round you." 

"Now, none of that," Wayne mumbles, rinsing his blade in the sink. "Already gettin' revved being able to see your face for once and we keep goin' this way, we'll be late to pullin' teats." 

Darry snickers. "Teats aren't going nowhere." He pats on some of the aftershave and once he's capped the bottle and set it on the edge of the sink, he leans over and kisses Wayne on the cheek, knowing full well how good he smells. 

Wayne closes his razor and turns so he's chest to chest with Darry. "A mutual squeezer and nothing more, I'm not hearin' Katy complain that we didn't pitch in picking stones." 

Darry grins. "Oh, 10-4, good buddy," he says, excited, and he kicks the bathroom door closed with his foot.


	10. direct route to a chapped ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> darry hangs waynes unmentionables on the line

There's enough force to Wayne's yanking that a few of the wooden pins break from their metal springs and they go spinning out before hitting the ground in two pieces. "Fuckin' degen type activity. Fuckin' indecent," he mumbles, pulling down pair after pair of briefs. "Gonna fuckin' give that tit a fuckin' go around for this stunt." 

Wayne's got his arms full of damp underwear when Darry steps out onto the porch and hollers, "Bet those aren't dry yet! Hung 'em not even a half hour ago!" 

Wayne spins around on his heel. He points at Darry and at first, he's so upset, no words come out of his mouth. "Fuckin'. Darry! Fuckin' wrong to go an' hang a man's undergarments out on the line!" 

Darry cocks his head and starts to stomp down the steps curiously. "Well, what the fuck for?" 

Wayne's face goes redder. "Whole town can see what's hung right here from the road. Drawers don't get strung up because it ain't proper to give all your neighbors a show at what you wear beneath your jeans, figger it out." 

"She's a bashful fella if I ever met one." 

Voice going stern, mostly to hide how flustered he is, Wayne continues, "Underwear gets put in the dryer. Line hangin' makes it go stiff as bark anyhow and'll lead to a chapped ass while yer hayin'. Sides that, a man shouldn't leave his underwear out where folks can see it. In a drawer, in a hamper, under his jeans, in the dryer. No other place for 'em. "

Darry smiles amused like and he rocks on the heels of his boots, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. "Never had a sweetie so rigid fore you, Wayne." 

"Wasn't brought up right," Wayne mutters. He goes to push past Darry, but Darry stops him with a hand placed firmly to his shoulder. 

"Piss outside much as the dog does, go skinny dippin' in the pond…," Darry points out. 

Wayne turns his chin away stiffly. He recrosses his arms, underwear bunched up. "Underwear is a fuckin' field's difference, Darry, sort yourself out." 

Darry snickers and steps back, watches as Wayne marches up the steps and slams the screen door behind himself. He'll have to apologize later, though it was an honest mistake—Darry thought he was lending a helping hand by hanging the wash and Wayne will surely get over it quick as a wink—but damn if watching Wayne's face firecracker up red as a cherry ain't something Darry wants to see more of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> super fuckin short, bud, but i couldn't get the idea of wayne losing his mind about underwear being out for the whole fuckin world to see out of my head
> 
> rule in my house too: no underwear on the line


	11. great day for gay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> letterkennys first pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for canon typical violence + use of homophobic language

Darry isn't shy about pairing his cut offs (mind you, not cut off enough that his pockets hang out) and a set of rainbow suspenders, but considering it's the first pride Letterkenny, Great Day for Gay, Wayne isn't feeling as bold and comfortable as his sweetie. Most likely the only bother will be McMurray chin wagging about he himself ain't no homosexual, he loves his wife, that whole show and dance. In the back of Wayne's mind, though, he's on edge imagining what might happen if any degens show up. Wayne's not afraid of a scrap, but he's not keen on the idea that his first pride could turn to a donnybrook right quick. 

Wayne wears the shirt Dan silkscreened for him; a white short sleeve with the words TOUGHEST GAY IN LETTERKENNY printed over the chest in black. Short sleeves aren't Wayne's forte, but neither are pride parades, so the whole day looks to be dicey. 

Wayne's dabbing some cologne behind his ears in the bathroom when Darry walks past the door, stops, and whistles loudly. 

"Fuckin' yew!" 

"Yew yerself with them cut offs," Wayne replies. 

Darry giggles and props his boot up on the door frame, presenting his legs. "Nothin' compared to the gun show you've got going over there, Big Shoots." 

"Get yer boots off the frame, gonna track mud." Wayne gives Darry a gentle nudge and Darry listens, steps aside. 

Wayne puts his hand to Darry's hip, pulls him close. Darry kisses Wayne's chin, curls his fingers around Wayne's bicep, and asks, "Same rules as weddings?" 

"What? No fighting at pride?" 

"Yeah." 

"Pride is built on riots, Dar, sort yourself out. Degens want to bash a queer… well, you know how the saying goes." 

Since Letterkenny is so small, the turn out is a collection table booths set up in town on a single strip of street that's been blocked off from traffic. Glen's got a corner to himself about the coexistence of LGBT beliefs and holy faith. Beside him, Gail is providing Puppers and free condoms, set out in a bowl like bar peanuts. Roald and a couple other skid nutsacks are selling pronouns pins and giving away pamphlets on LGBT slang and terminology. 

"Not too shabby for Letterkenny," Katy remarks. 

Wayne hums, Darry says, "Decent start to a tradition." 

Dan goes and gets them a round of Puppers from Gail, returning with the drinks and for himself, a button pinned to his overalls straps. 

"I'll go with you?" Darry asks. 

Dan nods, smiling. "For transgenders peoples, so they knows I'm a-okay with sharings a bathroom with anyones who doesn't identify as cisgenders." 

Wayne sips his Puppers and grumbles. Before anyone can ask what his deal is he says, "Wanna know what I think? Ally's shouldn't pat themselves on the backs for bein' decent fuckin' people. Pride isn't about them. So what you accept gay and trans people? Standard shouldn't be so fuckin' low we consider that progressive." 

Katy rolls her eyes. She's in a blue, purple, and pink halter top, cut offs that are much shorter than Darry's. "Don't be a Poopy Pants. Dan's just letting trans folk know they're safe with him."

Dan nods. "Thank you, Miss Katys. Wears the pin so if a transgenders or gender queer persons, however they identifies, feels afraid to use the bathrooms so matching their gender expressions, say at Modean's, they see this heres badge and knows at leasts one person there is protective of their rights. Or maybes they'll feel comfortables enough to ask me to accompanies them to the restrooms, to ensure no degens are goings to cause issues."

Darry perks up, says, "Get the whole gang some of them pins, Dan. I don't got a problem with trans people being in the bathroom with me." He snickers and adds, quietly, "Piss outside much as the dog does anyway." 

Dan goes and gets them all pins and for a while, they just sit in their fold out chairs, people watching from the sidewalk. Darry and Wayne are holding hands. The skids pull out some cardboard mats and do their spastic dances fueled by God only knows what, black overall outfits now decorated with rainbow bandanas and beads and the like. Drag queens that none of the hicks recognize—probably from the city—announce that later in the evening, they'll be performing at Modean's. 

"Should go and support the gals then, I suppose," Wayne says after a queen hands him a flyer. 

"Haven't seen a proper drag show since the skids did Rocky Horror in high school…," Katy reminisces, sounding dreamy.

Darry finishes his beer. "Don't think I've ever seen a drag show." 

"Me neithers," Dan comments, "but lord almightys, lookings like that, those ladies could make a fella questions his whole orientation." 

Katy laughs and says, "Get after it, Dan, might find out somethin' about yourself." 

Things go smoothly for a while, though Wayne doesn't appreciate Glen coming over to circle and fawn around him and Darry when his booth is slow. It's easy enough to ignore, but it dampens Wayne a bit, until Darry's leaning over once Glen is trotting back to his table, and whispering in Wayne's ear something dirty, sweet, and possessive. That returns to Wayne his pep, boy howdy. Bonnie McMurray joins the mix some minutes later and sits close to Katy. Mostly the crew talks, acts like it's any other day they might spend by the produce stand. 

That is, until some degens from up country show up. 

Wayne eyes them cautiously, figuring even inbreds like them could pull a 180 and be playing tonsil hockey with cousins of the same sex. That figuring is proven quickly wrong when Wayne sees them crowding Roald and Stewart, who are hissing in response to whatever shit the gaggle of degens are spewing. 

Wayne gives Darry a look and Darry squeezes his hand once before letting it go. Wayne erects himself and marches fiercely over, puts a hand on one of their greasy fucking shoulders, and spins the tit around to face him. 

"Are we going to have a problem?" Wayne asks. 

"Problem's already here, ya fuckin' fairy." 

"John Queers," one of them mutters. "Butch and does. Letterkenny's gone to shit." 

"Don't get the fuck out this town, gonna have yous sent back to where you came with wired jaws." Wayne goes to unbutton his sleeves, but finds his arms bare, so in an improvised move, he cracks his knuckles, then his neck. 

A snort. "'Toughest gay in Letterkenny'? Not much to be proud of there, butt cowboy."

Wayne blinks. "'Kay." And with that established, Wayne swings hard with his right fist, knuckles colliding with the degen's temple powerful enough to make anyone see stars. 

It turns into a regular brawl after that. Dan and Darry join in when things get really hairy. Bottles are smashed, beer and blood a foamy, sticky mess at their feet. Wayne's knuckles are torn and Darry's sporting a good shiner by the time the degens tap out and limp themselves home, tails between their legs. 

Gail supplies a round of free beers and Roald and Stewart titter shrill thank yous. 

"Not about you," Wayne says, wiping his knuckles on his jeans. "'Bout not fucking with people over their sexuality." 

Darry slips his hand into Wayne's back pocket, leaning heavy on him. "Head home and patch up?" he offers. "Then swing by Modean's for the show?" 

Wayne nods. "10-4." And whether to make a statement or just because he can, or perhaps because there's something gallant and touching about super soft Darry with a black eye that compels him, Wayne dips in and gives his sweetie a kiss on the mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> toughest gay in letterkenny...... mostly wanted to play with the dynamic of some of the LK crew being part of an open and safe LGBT scene


	12. mark of a memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wayne gets hurt while using the motorized log splitter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> injury description, but nothing major! no stitches or hospitalization or nothing

Wayne watches with a neutral fixation as Darry takes the very small medical scissors and trims a stretch of bandage off the spool. As Darry's wrapping it around Wayne's thumb, Wayne says, "Not the kind of man to complain bout a bust, but hurts so goddamn bad." 

Darry frowns, looking a little anxious, and Wayne knows he is, on account of Darry being soft as a kitten's belly and him not being able to stand seeing his sweetie hurting none. "Wouldn't be able to tell." 

"Face hasn't gotten the news yet." 

That gets a little chuckle out of Darry, exactly what Wayne wanted. No use in Darry getting all worked up over a split thumb. Wayne'll live. Certainly had worse in his day. 

Darry tapes off the gauze. "Don't start healin' up proper, oughta take you to a clinic." 

Wayne holds up his uninjured hand. "She'll scab over quick as can be, Dar. Not my first rodeo." 

"Looked awful bad," Darry argues, his voice timid. 

It's a pretty gnarly gash: log slipped off the gas-powered splitter and Wayne had gone to grab it a second too late, instead, catching his thumb between the side of the machine and the unforgiving wood. Force of it all, not to mention the weight of it, squashed Wayne's thumb just right. Nail cracked open in the middle the shape of a cartoon lightning bolt. Blood started pattering down in fat drops that splattered on and dripped off the blades of grass. 

Darry pert near started running circles like a headless chicken before he got his senses about him and hauled Wayne into the house to patch him up. 

"Nothin' I haven't seen before," Wayne dismisses. His wound throbs in time with his heartbeat. "When it's not so open, I'll throw some bag balm on 'er. That'll do the trick." 

"Tough as winter tires," Darry says, a smile in his voice. He closes the first aid kit and takes Wayne's hand into his. He turns it over so Wayne's palm is facing up. He draws a heart there using the tip of his index finger. 

"So fuckin' soft, bud," Wayne whispers. 

His heart is going to jelly at the gesture and then Darry goes and brings Wayne's hand up to his mouth, ghosts a kiss over the back of his knuckles, and Wayne could swear something inside him completely stalls out. 

"Toughest hands in Letterkenny. Oughta look after 'em proper or else you'll lose that title." 

Wayne's mouth twitches into the slightest smile. "One slip up and you've converted to a mother hen on me." 

Rather than agree or argue, Darry sets Wayne's hand free and stands. "How's a beer?" 

"I'd have a beer." 

Darry goes to the fridge and gets two cold Puppers, places Wayne's in front of him at the table. 

"Gonna smart a while." 

Wayne holds up his hand and looks at the swaddled thumb. "Can confirm." 

"Probably might leave a scar." 

"Sure as God's got sandals." Wayne sips his Puppers and to tease, he asks, "Love me less for it?" 

"What, havin' a scar?" 

"Yuh." 

Darry scoffs, grinning. "Mark of a memory there. Might make me love ya more." 

That wasn't the answer Wayne was expecting and his face warms a digit. 

Instead of saying anything, he creeps his hand under the table and finds Darry's, gives him a squeeze. Darry squeezes back. 

"Next time a log turns to fall, how bout we agree to step back and let her hit the ground fore we get after it?" Darry suggests. 

"That's a Texas-sized 10-4."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thinking maybe if this goes for 15 chaps I'll make another ficlet collection? how many chapters is too many?


	13. shoe box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> darry finds a shoe box in waynes dresser drawer.

Darry's rooting around for a drop of cologne or lick of deodorant, knowing he can't be stinking like the cows, and the bottle Wayne gave him for Christmas has run dry and he's tossed the last bottle of Banana Boat figuring he didn't need it no more, when he comes across a shoe box in the bottom drawer of Wayne's dresser. It's worn around the edges, looking like it once housed a pair of work boots Wayne owned several summers ago. Darry knows you shouldn't go snooping on your sweetie, especially when they haven't given you no reason to distrust them or disrespect their privacy, but sometimes curiosity gets the best of a man. 

So Darry pulls the shoe box out from the nest of thermal underwear it's in and sits cross legged in the middle of Wayne's bedroom. He lifts the lid. 

Inside is pert near every memory the boys have shared in the last couple decades as much as could fit in the limited space. 

Wayne and Darry's kindergarten graduation papers, Wayne's noting his withdrawal from others, his shyness, Darry's commenting on the development of his language skills and writing abilities. 

A stack of photos processed from a disposable camera: Wayne and Darry holding the first ever fish they caught from the pond, Wayne's dad most likely the one to take the picture; Wayne standing proudly in front of his first truck, his mouth a Mona Lisa type smile because what fella wouldn't be grinning like a fool over such a set of wheels cept for Wayne who rarely cracks more than a smirk?; Darry cradling a baby bunny he'd found in the fields with a broken back leg, swaddled up in one of Wayne's plaids (the babe being turned over to the proper care the same day); several snaps from various super soft birthdays; Darry catching Wayne off guard with a sneaky kiss on the cheek under the mistletoe on Christmas, having been taken by Dan, much to everyone's amusement on account of Wayne's wide eyes and Darry's drunken grinning even as he tried to pucker his lips; Darry sat contently in Wayne's lap, his arm outstretched to show he's the one holding the camera, Wayne squinting at the flash, faces crooked in the frame, Darry smiling, Wayne's arms around Darry's middle, eyes gleaming red from the stark light, the barn wall as a backdrop. 

Flowers Darry has brought Wayne over the years, pressed and laminated. Dandelions and four leaf clovers and buttercups. 

Just about every note Darry has given to Wayne, things as mundane as grocery lists with doodles of cartons of yogurt and slices of cheese and loaves of bread to accompany his near indecipherable handwriting. Scraps of paper with cartoon hearts with arrows going through them, "WAYNE + DARYL" in block letters. Nonsensical clues from Easter. Goofy drawings of Wayne as Superman, of stick figure him and Darry holding hands. 

Ticket stubs from movies and concerts they've gone to together. Flyers for the yearly fair folded and unfolded so many times they're worn down to their fibers, flaps of paper now rather than full pages. 

A single polaroid of infant Darry held to his mother's breast in the hospital. 

Christmas cards and Valentines. Hand turkeys painted in second grade. Pictures of the house decorated for Halloweens come and gone. Little bits of plastic green confetti in the shape of shamrocks from Saint Patrick's Day parties. 

Playing cards and paper targets all shot to Swiss cheese from shooting BBs out in the woods. The King's and Queen's all missing their heads on account of Wayne being hot as a two dollar pistol even with something inaccurate as a pellet gun. 

There are other odds and ends too: tiny neon yellow and orange fishing bobbers; buttons lost off pants; milk delivery cards from way before either of them were born, originating from Darry's side of the family when milkmen weren't a thing of lore; a couple ear tags from cows. 

Darry can hear the screen door open and crink shut, but he's busy pawing through photos, so fucking ten-ply looking at young Wayne in his work boots and plaid like he ain't changed a day since. 

"Fuckin' lollygaggin' while there's teats to be pulled… Darry! You in here batchin' or some degen shit, gonna come talk to ya…" Wayne falls silent when he reaches the doorway, looks down at Darry. "Not exposed to be lookin' through the belongings of others," he says calmly. 

"Would say these belongings is least half mine considerin' I'm tied to pert near all 'em in here." 

Wayne kneels down beside his sweetie and gives a peeksee into the box. "Can't spit against that logic," he murmurs. He reaches in and holds up a picture of him and Darry, both plastered off their asses the night of a stump burning. Their faces are aglow soft orange, arms slung around the other's neck. 

"How long you been collectin' all this?" 

Wayne considers. "Say bout… Well. Like. Katy keeps hold of the family scrap book so I'd say… close to bout just shy of forever." 

Darry smiles warm as melting butter watching Wayne gently card through the papers and photos. "Soft as a fuckin' sally." 

"History keepin' been round long as history been worth keepin'." 

Darry snickers. "Par for the course then, I reckon." 

Wayne snaps out of his moment and drops the items back into the shoe box, standing abruptly in that way of his. "Productive as kickin' rocks when there's stones to pick." 

Special care is taken to ensure all the trinkets and scraps are placed neatly back in their box, to which Wayne mutters, "Take yer time there, ya skirt." 

Darry puts the box back in the dresser drawer, closes it with his boot. "Yer the skirt, Mr. Soft Serve." He smiles and eases onto his toes to give Wayne a kiss, but Wayne clotheslines him and pushes his sweetie away. 

"Smell like you been livin' in the barn a week." 

"Came in here lookin' to fix that in the first place," Darry grumbles. 

Wayne tosses him the truck keys. "Head to town and buy somethin' to splash on, Little Shoots, and I'll give ya that kiss yer itchin' for." 

That's far better than a fair trade if Darry's ever heard one.


End file.
